A gunslinger. Thats what Ray Pérez looks like. Tall, thin and trigueño*, with a narrow waist, all the better for holding six shooters. Squinty eyes and the sideways smile of the confident marksman - one who can sight-read music. On some of his roughly 35 album covers he even wears a cowboy hat typical of the Venezuelan llaneros. Then you hear his nickname is El Loco Ray.

His bands  he conceived of, composed, arranged, played piano and sang for Los Dementes, Los Calvos and Los Kenya, among others  were the voice of the youth of Caracas in 1967, Caracas en la Cuarentona, the year of the Cuatricentennial (400 years) of its founding. The same youth that Richie Ray (Las Caraqueñas), Ray Barretto (A Maracaibo and No Olvida a Caracas) and Pete Rodriguez (Arranca en Fa) celebrated in songs from the same period.

Los Dementes were the voice of the gente del este, the people of the working class barrios of San Agustin, La Pastora, and the infamously revolutionary and salsa-crazy 23 de Enero. The songs on their debut LP, which translates as World Alert! The Crazy Men Have Arrived often began with whistling, horn honking, and the sounds of a class full of loco kids, exploding quickly into raw and exciting descargas. Lightning fast timbales are heard as trombones come on like the horns of an eighteen-wheeler. Rays montunos, insistent and full of feeling, turn on a dime into swinging boogaloo breakdowns, serving notice to country-club groups like the massive Billos Caracas Boys: the inmates have taken over the asylum.

Ray has passionate followers in Europe, notably in Italy, Germany, France and Spain. Luis Silva, better known as Melon of Lobo y Melon, told journalist Alfredo Churion that Ray is a salsa idol in Mexico, where he still plays live on occasion. Colombia has long appreciated Rays guaguanco, and I have heard that his version of Feliz Cumpleanos is the song of choice at birthday parties in Cali and Barranquilla. But Ray has been little appreciated in the U.S, which save for maybe el Niche and Oscar tends to ignore the critical contributions of countries like Panama, Colombia and Venezuela in the history and corpus of Afro-Antillean music.

For the record, La Salsa Llego con los Dementes (1967) came out long before they were using salsa as a marketing term in Nueva York. And if you can find that original LP for sale on Ebay, expect to pay upwards of $200 for it, or for any from that period. As for original pressings of Los Calvos  as a record-seller in Cartagena told me, those are MI. Mision Imposible.

Salsomanos are blessed in that Ray made use of a brilliant array of gifted soneros and singers, including the charismatic Perucho Torcat, his partner in crime, who died tragically in Boston at the age of thirty-two, the golden-throated Carlin Rodriguez, and brilliant scatman Calaven (Carlos Yanez), a singer comparable in innovation to Francisco Fellove or Amado Borcela Guapacha. Ray himself sings con un feeling muy especial on some of his most powerful songs, such as Asi Mueren los Valientes, Rio Manzanares, Emae Emae and Adios Madeira.

His percussion sections featured drum and timbal legend El Pavo Frank Hernandez, Alberto Naranjo, master of Venezuelan folkloric rhythms, Alfredo Padilla, later of La Salsa Mayor, and the great conguero Nene Quintero. If you are suffering from an overdose of salsa matancerizada, just put on one of Rays LPs. But be forewarned, as Perucho (QEPD) sings in El Trigueño Cintura:

Thank you for having me in your home, maestro. Its a great honor to meet you. What is your full name?

My name from baptism is Ramon Epiphanio Pérez Rivas. I was born in Barcelona, Anzoategui state, Venezuela the 25th of december, 1938. Thats the date the authorities gave me, because the birth rolls disappeared in a fire. My mother told me I was born on april 7, 1937. So I have two birthdays.

And your parents?

My papas name was Ramon Ernesto and my mama, Asuncion.

My name is Roberto Ernesto.

I am Epiphanio.

And who gave you the nickname Ray?

Well, that was in the United States, diminutive for Ramon. I remember alternating with Ray Barretto in Maracaibo in 1965, he said the age of kings (reyes) was over, but I said now is when its just beginning.

And what were your beginnings with music?

Bueno, it started in middle school, there is a photo over there, at twelve years old, with the tuba, because my father was professor of music in San Juan Bosco school. So he made a band, and I liked the trumpet, but because no one would play tuba because it was so heavy he made me play it. I touched a piano keyboard now and again but I was on the tuba.

What did your father play?

Trumpet, piano, he was a Sunday school music teacher too.

Was your mother a musician as well?

She sang. And cooked really well.

What was the first group you were involved in?

It was a group we made with a cuatro, which is a Venezuelan tipico instrument, a drum and maracas. This was in 51, 52.

You already knew Venezuelan folkloric music.

Claro, we sang aguinaldos, in the carnavales we made comparsas where we played folkloric music, el carrite, la lancha de nueva esparta

Did your father teach you that?

Those things were learned in school and at home, but, yes, I learned them with him.

In 1952, were there radio stations in Barcelona playing popular music?

Yes, there were Radio Emisora Unida and Radio Vargas, and they played Venezuelan music, but I had a shortwave radio in the house and I listened to Radio Mayague, from Havana, Cuba. I heard all those stations, from Puerto Rico, even the BBC in London. I heard classical music

On the Cuban and Puerto Rican stations did you hear Musica Antillana?

Yes, I heard seis chorreao, the mapeye, all the kids used to listen to it. I liked Puerto Rican music, because there was a program called la guitarrista y la lora (the guitar player and the parrot). It was on at seven at night, and it gave news about crimes (sings) Ba pa dibee dibee pa pa pa, pa na pa, din din din they killed him on the corner of I dont know where it talked about murders, it was a newscaster that spoke and sang. And from Havana, I heard the salsa programs, the orquestas

Like Aragon, Beny More

No, I dont remember their names. There was a septet, or a quintet, I dont remember the name, later I got a record of theirs. They had a hit with La Campana, (sings) tocame la campana campanero. Later Mangual Jr. recorded it.

The first charanga I saw, it was in Barcelona during the second world war, the ships came, and because my father was a musician, they came to my house and played flute, violin, marimbula, bass they didnt have a piano. Guitar, tres. I was a little boy.

What was your childhood like?

I went to school in the morning and the afternoons. At midday I went home, I had to go sell tobacco because my father had a little tobacco store. I sold the tobacco, went back home, and went to school again. At night we played with the boys on the corner. Or we could make music, I got a cuatro, they got a perolita and we played.

I left school at twelve, I left to work. I kept studying, but I had to work to help because I had eighteen brothers and sisters.

Whoa!

My father earned, in that era, 150 bolivars a month. Which was nothing. So I left to work, I picked coffee.

Yesterday I bought a piece of bubaloo gum that cost 150 bolivars.

Thats what my father made. Bueno, when I turned seventeen he died, and we migrated to Caracas, so I had to keep working. I got a job at the Remington brand company, adding machines. I took some courses at night school. So in the year 1958, when we had the problem with Marco Pérez Jimenez, Pérez Jimenez fell and I bought a guitar, and I started to play guitar thats how my life as a bohemian started, I played guitar

Somebody told me you know about Ray Pérez, he learned to play piano on the adding machine keyboards at Remington.

(Laughs) No, what what it was, I put the calculators on different operations, 99, 01, like that, and each one had a rhythm I synchronized them to make music, they would go takata takata tit tit tit this was in the late 50s, 55-56.

You are almost twenty years old. What was Caracas like back then?

Ah bueno, it was different. You couldnt walk in the Plaza Bolivar with a t-shirt, the only ones who could were tourists and those accompanied by police, because it was out of respect for the Liberator, you had to wear a suit also the climate was different, it was cold, Caracas was cold for whatever government business, to go to court, you had to go in suit and tie.

What about racism?

Among the people there was never racism. Here black, white, Indian, trigueño (mestizo) are all the same. Thats something you hear nowadays, racism. There was never discrimination. The only ones who were different were the the blacks in Higuerote (Barlovento), but they are from Africa. Poor people, we all went to school together, in the same classroom, of every color, even Chinese, there were Italians, Arabs, Russians, Catalans we went to the same school.

Were your musical groups mixed?

Yes, but black more than anything, because the blacks here dominate percussion. There are some whites like El Pavo Frank (Hernandez), who I played with, and also Alfredo Padilla

Tomorrow I am going to a concert in El Pavo Franks honor in San Agustin.

Yes, I know, I have played there, but the times I have been there make me not want to go again, because there is no respect there one time when we got the musicians onstage to descarga, there was a shootout there, they killed someone this was years ago.

(Ray plays the song Uvas Verdes, an uptempo number with with a little jazz descarga in it of trumpets and piano. The vocals meander over the rhythm, los pollitos dicen, pio pio pio )

This is a childrens rhyme in calypso rhythm, calypso has a strong presence in the Oriente province. (The islands of Trinidad and Tobago lie 10 km off the coast of Venezuela)

I heard some Afro-Venezuelan people speaking a kind of English here, like a patois, but not like the one in Panama and Costa Rica.

Right, patois. That comes from the blacks from Guyana.

So when do you begin to play music professionally?

I started with a guitar, and made a trio we played romantic music, like the music of los Panchos, los Hi-Los, all the Latin and American music. I played in two trios, los Hambay, and later los Singers, which also had some success. Los Hambay had a cuatro and harps, it was Enrique, Hatencio, Gonzalo Pena and this humble servant
We played at the best restaurants and also on the Show de Renny. We recorded a 45 with RCA Victor, Marcianita, (sings) marcianita, da da da da  The other side was La Muchachita del Interior. (Girl from the countryside)

With los Singers we recorded a song from the United States, Raindrops. I did a version in Spanish and it was a hit here. It was on a four song 45 RPM record, another song was Pissi Pissi Bao Bao. Since I was little I heard a lot of North American music thanks to my brother Luis Pérez, who played trumpet at the Sans Souci club in Maracaibo.

What kind of music did los Singers play?

It was rock. But not hard, no, it was the rock of the era.

And the songs you recorded, were they your compositions, arrangements, lyrics?

Yes. Later I made a quintet called los Mikers.

And you were getting paid. Was your mother happy when you came home with a check?

Claro. Everyone was happy. I was into music, I did tours, to the interior, to Colombia.

Singing rock, rock en espanol. So you were among the first to do rock en espanol, long before Shakira and Juanes

(Laughs) Exactly.

Have you heard los Amigos Invisibles?

They are good. They are Venezuelan.

So, I went to study at the conservatory in Maracaibo. People think I am a Maracucho, but I only lived there for three years. I am from Oriente.

You moved to Maracaibo in what year?

1962. It was the era of Chubby Checker, Ray Charles. I had a group called los Bobos del Twist. But then, after that, I got into my salsa. In Maracaibo I made the group Ray Pérez y su Charanga  los Dementes really, but first I called it Ray Pérez y su Charanga. This is 1965.

What music influenced you?

No, the influence came from when I was a boy, because the influence we had was Billos (Caracas Boys), the old orquestas, Rafael Munozs orquesta but they stayed with that rhythm, they didnt add anything to it or transform it at all, so we called it musica gallega (spanish music/corny music). Because they stayed like that. And we were changing. In Caracas, they liked salsa. Well, they liked guaracha. It wasnt called salsa, but its the same guaracha. What happened was we played it with a different feeling, different swing.

So I made my group, and we had a program on television called Fiesta con Ray Pérez y su Charanga on Canal 13, with Raul Bales Quintero.

Wow, just like that?

I was studying, I played clubs at night, and studied in the morning, sometimes I left the club at five in the morning to study at the conservatory at seven. I was auditing the classes, in there with six and seven year old kids to begin with well after six months I was doing arrangements because at the same time I was taking classes in harmony and musical dictation.

What songs did you play? Covers or originals?

They were my songs  Mango Maduro, Rompe el Coco, I put on my music. We debuted in the club Trinidad in 1965, and alternated with Ray Barretto that year. That was his first visit to Venezuela, he went right to Maracaibo.

Is it true that they wouldnt allow you to perform as los Dementes?

My music professor wouldnt allow us to play as los Dementes because he said musicians cant be classified as locos, so we called it Ray Pérez y su Charanga. There was a patrol ready to take us off the stage if we went on as los Dementes.

Bueno, when I went to Caracas to play there, I started the group as los Dementes and we recorded. Thats where Descarga Cuatricentenaria, Rompelo, all those songs are made. The first one was done with Prodansa. But the company went under, and sold the record to Velvet. On Velvet I recorded six Dementes LPs and two by los Kenya.

Did anyone who played with your Charanga continue with los Dementes in Caracas?

No. They came but they went back to Maracaibo and I had to look for new musicians here. I found Alfredo Padilla (timbales), Nene (Quintero, congas), Enrique Vasquez the bassist, Juan Diaz on trombone, Rulfo Garcia on trombone, and Perucho.

The great Perucho Torcat. How did you meet Perucho?

Well, he is from Oriente, from the same region as I am. He was from Sucre, I am from Anzoategui. So, Paisanos. He was playing with a group of students, and I said Perucho, why dont you learn a few songs, because really I was going to have this kid Pastor record the songs, Pastor Lopez. But I dont know what happened to Pastor, so I told Perucho and he learned those songs, and we recorded. I recorded him when he sang, he tried to imitate Tito Rodriguez. And I said no, imitate me, and thats how he sang the songs.

The first LP was Alerta Mundo, 1967.

Llegaron los Dementes, los Crazy Men. We took a photo in the park

Where did the name Crazy Men come from?

Ah some guys said I was crazy.

Thats where el Loco Ray comes from?

They said I was crazy, I went around inventing vainas (things), this kid is crazy.

They tell me I am crazy sometimes, too, traveling in Venezuela and Colombia looking for musicians from the late 60s. Actually, you have a line in one of your songs, Emae Emae, that says El malo en este mundo es ser diferente, y si tu eres cuerdo te dicen loco de mente (the bad in this world is to be different, and if you are sane, they call you crazy).

Thats how it is. Cuerdo is by the rules, correct. To us who have a way of doing things, an honest conduct, and we dont change from that, so they say the opposite about you. If I dont use drugs, they say the opposite, he must be a drug addict. But I have never used drugs.

When I listen to the music on that first LP, that hard trombone salsa, I hear the sounds of modernity, the big city in the 60s  the horns are like cars and buses, trains the timbal, the percussion are like machines, motors, tin tin tin

Well, it was a new era. The groups then were septets with tres, la Sonora matancera or orquestas like Billos, Colombian vallenato orquestas so I used trombones, looking for a different timbre.

It wasnt that you were listening to Eddie Palmieri and his Perfecta?

No, no. Not yet. I heard Palmieri in Caracas, tu tu tu, ta ta, I liked that a lot. I had heard Mon Rivera and his trombones. It was that I liked the sound of the trombone because, among the instruments, the one that is most like a man is the trombone. The trumpet sound is more feminine. The trombone is more solid. But with los Kenya I did some arrangements for trumpet, which were forceful.

How did the people of Caracas react to the powerful sound of the trombones?

Ah bueno, the people went crazy. I played from Monday to Monday. I was on television on Monday, then I played dances Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Sunday during the day and sometimes at night. It was pura rumba in Caracas.

Alerta Mundo was a big hit  how many records were sold?

In one week to sell 10,000 records was a phenomenon. But those have kept selling. All the records, I have the tapes, they are mine.

The version of Rompelo on the Lo Mejor de Ray Pérez CD sounds different from the one on Alerta Mundo.

That was another version we recorded in 1969. The first version was recorded in 1965, 1966.

You have various versions of a number of your songs, you did a jazzier version of los Dementes Mi Salsa Llego with los Calvos, Sonero Soy with both los Dementes and los Kenya, and Emae Emae with los Dementes in the 70s (as Golpes de Pecho) so your music keeps evolving, like you keep reworking a theme you did one way once

Yes, thats right.

The music of Los Dementes, and the music of Sexteto Juventud, Federico y su Combo Latino was called music of the barrio. Why?

Bueno, because the high class people, the ones they call oligarchs now, the ones who had money, they danced to Billos, what we called musica gallega. The new music was of our generation, we gave the guaracha a different feeling.

And you lived in those barrios too.

Claro. I lived in el 23. Everywhere where the high people dont live, all the rest of Venezuela is a barrio, a big barrio.

Claro. In 1967 I recorded two productions of los Dementes and two of los Calvos.

How did you have time to compose all those songs, playing live almost every day?

Well, on Sundays I sat with my guitar, and wrote.

I have noticed that you give a lot of advice in your songs. Emae Emae says si quieres amigo mio llegar a viejo, no bonches todos los dias porque no es bueno, busca siempre de los ancianos un buen consejo, se sencillo Buena gente y sin complejos (friend of mine, if you want to live a long life, dont party every day because its not good, always look for a good word from your elders, be simple, good people, without complexes). Did you write those lyrics?

All of them. All the songs have a message. It says there to be simple, dont make problems.

Tell me about the costumes on your LP covers, because it looks like you were having a lot of fun.

Claro, mucho. I got those in the wardrobe department of Radio Caracas Television, Canal 8. We came out like that, so we continued it.

Who did that crazy laughter, ahahahahahahahaa!

Ah, that was Angel Pérez, the bongocero. He lived in Europe for a long time, but now he lives here again.

Is that the Dementes yell?

Yes. Los Kenyas is Kooi Kooi. Whenever I did a new group, something came out of it.

You were lucky to have such artistic freedom. Like most of los Calvos, mixing salsa and jazz and surf rock, was really experimental.

I did the song El Trigueno Cintura on Manifestacion en Salsa, its eight minutes long, it has a long jazz piano solo.

Thats an amazing song. The coro says Es mas salsa, que pescao, (Its more salsa than fish) which Piper Pimienta Diaz used to say with the Latin Brothers, I think Jimmy Sabater said it on one of his LPs. Did they hear it from your song?

Piper heard it from los Dementes LPs, they sold a lot in Colombia.

Do you know Fruko too? How do you view him as a musician?

Fruko is a friend of mine. He is one of the bravos.

Richie Ray and Bobby Cruz famously rocked the Feria in Cali in 1968. Did they also come to Caracas?

Yes, we alternated with them. That was on Canal 8. Palmieri also came, Ray Barretto, la Broadway. Pete Rodriguez, Joe Cuba. Los Corraleros de Majagual, Orlando y su combo from Colombia that was an era, there was work, there was money in Caracas. We played in the plazas of the barrios all over Caracas, recorded live TV shows there

Another song from the period says que vengan los hippies 

The hippies loved our music.

Caracas in la cuarentona (the cuatricentennial, 1967)

There you go. Thats from La Salsa Llego. I did another version of that song with el Negrito Calaven. Do you know him?

Ive never heard anything really like him before. Tell me about him.

His real name was Carlos Yanez, but he was called Calaven. He sang with such a rich feeling, they compared him to Miguelito Valdes, but it wasnt like that, he was a natural singer. This is a kid that sold mangos in the street, he liked to sing, he was from the barrio. Originally he was from Barlovento.

So I met him in el 23, we saw each other on weekends because I worked in the Remington factory. He liked to sing, I liked to play piano. We met and hung out on Saturdays, went to nightclubs and played, he sang. We did it for the love of music, not for money. Thats how our friendship began.

He was a really warm black man, and very flashy. He didnt have much formal education. When he hit it big, everyone was calling him, looking for him to sing here and there, he sang in the barrios, in the street, with any band that set up. After los Calvos, he sang with Federico.

He drank liquor, and liquor killed him. Even when the doctor forbade him from drinking, he couldnt stop. I tried to tell him, look he died on May 28, 2003.

Who were the members of los Calvos?

El Pavo Frank on drums, Pedro Garcia on conga. He was a Cuban, he passed away. Miguel Silva on bass, Araujo and Lewis on trombone and trumpet. (Ray Pérez composer/arranger on piano)

Journalist Alfredo Churion called los Calvos one of the most innovative experiences in Venezuelan popular music. He quotes El Pavo Frank as telling you that the combination of calypso and salsa rhythms with jazz on los Calvos was like wearing a tuxedo with rope sandals. What was it like recording those two LPs?

Right. It was ahead of its time. We had fun in the studio with los Calvos, also with los Dementes. Even though Calaven had been the singer of Pedrozas orquesta, he had never recorded. Both Los Calvos LPs I did for RCA Victor. (Estos Son los Calvos and Y Que Calvos! 1967)

Did you ever play live?

No. With los Kenya we played live on the show de medianoche, Canal 8.

Tell me about los Kenya. That LP Siempre Afro Latino is amazing.

Right, thats the first one, we called it El Kenya. We named it that for all the children dying of hunger in Kenya. That has the songs Te Pongo a Valer, Hoculele

Te Pongo a Valer, with Carlin Rodriguez and Calaven  what a combination!

Yes you liked it?

Its amazing. I cant categorize it. It has rock, salsa, funk, afro

That song has everything in it. It was a hit in Venezuela but in general that music was really ahead of its time, people were used to los Dementes, to the hard Latin beat.

Again, you seemed to have had total artistic freedom.

All the groups were my productions. So, I had to find a sound, a style for each group.

You make it sound like thats easy to do. What does Te Pongo a Valer mean?

Thats about a guy who puts his girlfriend to work so she can get self-esteem, and she doesnt recognize what hes done for her it was my message to the musicians who said I had treated them unfairly, some of the musicians of los Dementes. So I gave it back to them, like the Jewish proverb that says who lives by the sword 

All the songs have messages. There is another song we did called Pa la Cola (get in line), we did that for Federico, for Sexteto Juventud. Dimas sings on that one and he says hay que estudiar, hay que tocar y leer (you have to study, you have to read and play). Because Federico played guiro, he didnt read music. Olinto of Sexteto Juventud neither. I told them, but they didnt want to study.

Who were the musicians of los Kenya, and how many LPs did you record?

Thats Alberto Naranjo on drums, Luis Arias and Luis Lewis on trumpets, Miguel Silva on bass, Pedro Garcia Guapacha on congas, Cosa Buena on bongos. With los Kenya we I recorded four, two for Velvet and two for Discomoda.

You have some boogaloos, and in many of your songs the influence is there, the high hat, hand claps, the swing. One minute you are going in one direction, then poom, there is a swinging montuno bridge

Bueno, the boogaloo is the same son. The boogaloo was also from our era, we played it and lived it.

What year did you go to New York?

In 1969, on and off through 1971.

Why did you go?

I went to study, and also to get out from under the women. I went to study with el maestro Nick Rodriguez, Panamanian. He gave me an exam, harmonizing, like that, but he said, No, man, you dont need to study, what you need to do is write.

Did you play in New York?

Claro. I played with Kako y sus All Stars, when I got up on the piano everyone got up to sing, Cheo Feliciano, Chivirico Palmieri instead of playing piano took the timbal. Patato, Totico, Chombo Silva this was on Second Avenue, Kakos after hours. Later we left at six for a musicians breakfast on Broadway. That was a rumba I also played with Cortijo and Ismael Rivera, with Rudy Calzado.

They paid you?

Claro. I charged fifty dollars. I played on weekends. Saturday there was mass, they always played in the church. Salsa.

Salsa in the church?

Claro, you didnt know? The best parties were in the church. We played with la (Orquesta) Broadway, Zervigon called me. And the priests sold the aguardiente. These said that this is a house of God, and Gods children should enjoy themselves in the house of God.

That makes sense.

They had big stages. I played in a church in Connecticut also. And during the party they would announce tomorrow the mass is at such and such hour 

Did you record in New York?

Yes, I recorded for Musicor. Al Santiago called me, I got up and recorded.

Your songs?

No, for other people. I did some arrangements for people too. Some songs for Orlando Contreras I did some arrangements for Pete Rodriguez, and I gave him some of my songs which he later recorded. Dame Felicidad and Bossa Triste (from the LP Pete Rodriguez Now!, Tico, 1970). Vicentico Valdes recorded my song Donde la Tarde Muere, and Lola Flores recorded my song Muchacho Barrigon, which I still pays me royalties from Spain.

You returned to Caracas in 1971. Journalist Lil Rodriguez, author of Bailando en la Casa del Trompo, says that Venezuelan musicians in general didnt leave and move to New York, like many others who became stars in Latin America, because the local reception was so warm to the culture of salsa, the environment was so nourishing. The fact that your trip was so short is further evidence for her theory. Why did you go back?

I went and came back in 1969, then I went back to Nueva York and came back again in 1971 because, with the women there, I couldnt do it anymore. The women there are great but the women here

And the cold didnt bother you?

No, I like the cold. The cold opens your appetite, and you have to arrive bundled up, well dressed.

Perucho went with you both times?

Perucho was there with me, he worked with Ray Barretto.

There are two Los Dementes LPs that came out at that time, one is Estamos Caminando on Iglee, the band is like naked, coming out of a forest.

No, that wasnt me, when I left to go there, I left the name to the guys so they could keep working as los Dementes.

It has Catalina, Mi Salsa Llego, La Cenicienta

Those are mine, I play on those. Mi Perrita, Floro, those too. La Cenicienta, thats a song an Argentine friend of mine gave me, and I recorded it. Alfredo Padilla sings. But I never heard of that label.

What about Psiquiatria Popular SA and Yo Tengo un Guia by los Nuevos Dementes, both on Velvet? Perucho sings on Psiquiatria Popular.

Thats not mine, thats Cholo Ortiz on piano. Perucho came back and recorded that with them. They did that while I was in Nueva York.

Alfredo Padilla played timbales on those LPs.

Yes, but El Pavo Frank is the master. El Pavo Frank is the first drummer that played there up north, that, well, they had to take off their hats to him, Tito Puente, all those people

A genius. And another musician that returned to Venezuela.

When I was there, thats when I met Pacheco. He was promoting a 45, Sonero. He played it for me in his office. He said, What do you think, Ray, if I take this to Venezuela? I told him this is a stunner, a hit as soon as it gets there. And it was. That was the first record he hit with here. It was also a hit in Nueva York thats what made me make my own label when I got back here.

What label?

Pyraphon. I did 50 productions, of various groups. Of Venezuelan music, third world music. The LP Ray Pérez y su Mae Mae came out of that. Also Lo Mejor de Ray Pérez, I recorded those in 1969 when I first came back, recorded my boleros, my sones for el Palacio de la Musica (Palacios records)  El Tribilin, Adios Madeira, those were songs that were hits here, in Cali, everywhere. Later I did two LPs for Sergio Cecchis Melser label.

What about the LP Perucho y El Loco Ray on Palacios?

That was in 1971, we came back to record. Aqui Estoy de Nuevo (Palacios) was at the same time. I was always working. Perucho recorded an LP in Nueva York, backed by Ray Barrettos orquesta and Eddie Palmieris band, on Fonseca. Its called Homenaje a Perucho En Nueva York.

What happened with Perucho? Was it drugs? There are so many stories, Fania conspiracy stories, it was drugs, Justo Betancourt killed him, Fania killed him

Bueno, Perucho, he was a healthy guy. He smoked a little marijuana, but wasnt into drugs. When he died we had come back from Nueva York and were playing here, at the carnavales. I had my label, Pyraphon, and Perucho worked with me  we did the LP Ellos Lo Hacen/They Do It, which has both of us on the cover. This is 1972. So Justo Betancourt came here and talked to Perucho, to take him with him to play with his orquesta. I said Perucho, OK, go. If you have work there, no problem. But I told him, Whatever you can do over there, we can do here. No, he said, you know, I want to be international. I told him that when our records are released here, you will be international.

He worked at the Corso the first time we went to Nueva York, but he came back. When he went with Justo, he had some problems there, he was always hanging around Justo because as he was a singer, he didnt have anything to do during the day. He wasnt a mechanic or anything like that. I think he had a problem with Justos wife. You know how Cuban women are. She was jealous with her husband. I think she threw him out of the house. So he left the house, and one day I got the surprise, at midday. They called me collect, I accept its Justo Betancourt, "Ray, come get Peruchos body."

What?

Perucho died. Nelson Pinedo told me that what happened was this. They went to play in Boston, and it gets cold in Boston. It was springtime, when it gets real cold sometimes. When they got back from the show, Justo told Perucho to stay in his house. But because Perucho felt pena with Justo s wife, Perucho stayed down below. I guess there was a window open, and he felt cold, so he went into the car and closed the windows and turned on the car to run the heater. When they opened the car in the morning he was dead from monoxide inhalation. It was an accident. Nobody killed him, he died from inexperience. I imagine he came home tired from the show, from the dance
Wow. How old was he?

He was maybe thirty two, thirty three. A good singer. He danced incredibly, like El Gran Combo. He moved all over the stage  he was a real showman.

(Ray plays the beautiful Canto a un Sonero, which he wrote for Perucho. The coro says Perucho se marcho, sin decirnos un adios (Perucho left us, without saying goodbye).

Your connection with Fania was made in New York?

I worked in the RCA building in Nueva York, the same building as Johnny Pacheco, Masucci, Tito Puente, Charlie Palmieri, they all had offices there. It was 55 Broadway, next to the Ed Sullivan theater, on the corner where all the musicians were.

When I came back to Venezuela for the second time, Palacios was representing Fania. I heard about Teo Hernandez, he was singing in el Cueva del Oso, which was a huge disco. He was a hit. I went to see him, and I liked his voice, so I recorded him. Later I got his brother to sing too. We recorded four LPs as los Dementes. Mi Deuda de Amor, Estamos en Guerra, Yo Soy el Propio Guaguanco and Chevere.

There have been quite a few Best of Ray Pérez compilations, and each one has different songs. Did you get paid for those compilations?

Thats not right, if you hadnt written those songs, recorded them, they wouldnt have a business. You put food on their table.

Claro.

(Ray plays one of his rare but well-regarded boleros. His wife, a retired professor of labor and collective bargaining law, approaches. He sings boleros beautifully, she says.)

Being a big star in Caracas, a singer too, in the sixties and seventies, there must have been a lot of women around

(Big smile) Claro que si.

Interviewing musicians years later, it seems like people release their compositions and dont pay them royalties, they come to their homes and steal their LPs and memorabilia, I like to think that during the time when they were stars, they lived it up, I mean

(Smiles) I enjoyed myself.

That makes me feel a little better.

Endnote: The CD Lo Mejor de Ray Pérez is available on descarga.com, and compilations of his best work with Los Dementes, Los Kenya and Los Calvos are slated for release in 2007. This article is dedicated to two greats of Venezuelan music journalism  PHIDIAS DANILO ESCALONA and LIL RODRIGUEZ.